In my memory, words that leave a mark go something like this: “Joline, you’re a diva.”

The exact statement is a bit fuzzy, but make no mistake, the word “diva” had indeed been attributed to me and proclaimed publicly in a room full of my peers.

The statement was made by a *teacher*.

It stung.

I played it off.

I guess that’s what a “diva” does when feeling shamed – downplays the hurt. I’m sure, by my “meh” response (although it was the ’80’s – so that “meh” should be replaced with a “like, gag me with a spoon”) it seemed as if the statement hadn’t made impact. But, deep down, in the hiding places no one sees, I had been knocked to the mat by a direct hit to the kisser. The embarrassment left an invisible scar and and indelible memory that I have never forgotten.

Even now, as an adult, “Joline, you’re a diva” has infiltrated my decision making process on many occasions. While I’ve certainly recovered – it has never left my side. It lingers. It hovers. It’s there.

Have you ever experienced this with a zinger someone hurled your way? (It certainly makes me wonder about statements I’ve made to my own children that they may carry with them throughout life.)

*Full Disclosure*

I would like to think I’m pretty self-aware of both my strengths and my short-comings, so with all due respect to the teacher, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the following. As a kid who grew up doing theater and commercials, I most definitely – hand to the sky – can I get a witness type of moment here – enjoyed the spotlight and pursued it. There’s no denying that I positioned myself to be known as the “performer”. It was my identity. There was vanity.

I harbor no ill-will against the teacher. She may have felt she was helping me. I’m sure her intention wasn’t to maim. Regrettably, I even recall my turning around years later and smugly reacting to a kid I was directing with a similar outburst.

As the words left my mouth, I scrambled to stop them – but they poured out too quickly for me to stuff them back in.  There they were – out there – in front of the girl’s peers. History repeats itself . . .

Who am I? (not, 24601)

What type of person callously brushes off being told they’re a diva? And then, having experienced the pain first-hand, throws a similar punch at someone else?

Insecure people do this.

The teacher wasn’t at fault for what happened next. I’m not waving a victim card. If anything, her words brought to the surface thoughts that had always been lurking.

I grew up doubting my talent. I knew I could pass on stage. I could sing, dance, and act – but never once did I ever believe that my  childhood talent was strong enough to make the shift into becoming a strong adult performer. As a kid, I was good. Great? That’s debatable. More important to me at the time, and to many young people, is the desire to be liked. The same was true of me. Who wants to be different? Take a teen who is known for acting, but harbors the same insecurities that other teens feel, and then mix all that in an environment where an adult uses the word “diva” in front of those same kids with whom one wants to belong, and you’ve got yourself a heaping serving of self-doubt.

In my head, “Joline, you’re a diva” translated “Joline, you’re really not as talented as you think you are. You’re not fooling any of us. You’re just a showman.”

All sequins. No substance.

This is when life took a turn.

It would be 5 years before I stepped on stage again.

to be continued . . .